


White Ambrosia

by ssentenial



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Illnesses, M/M, One-sided - Relationship - Freeform, Prom, Vomit, Vore mention, its for a joke please don't scroll past this, khakis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-20 02:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssentenial/pseuds/ssentenial
Summary: Michael has had a few run-ins with the Hanahaki disease. Three, to be precise.





	1. i wish u knew how much i love u

**Author's Note:**

> i'll probably regret this in a few years  
> but you know what. whatever man  
> thanks for taking the time to click this

Michael has had a few run-ins with the Hanahaki disease. Three, to be precise.

The first time was in 4th grade. He was lying down by his mother, listening to her read him a story. They were in the pillow fort on his bed that they built together. In the middle of the story, he felt a tremor in her chest, which grew into two tremors. Then a cough. A coughing fit. Michael looked up from the book to glance at his mother, and saw a flower with crumpled petals in her palm. She made a distasteful noise.

"Oh, Michael.... you weren't supposed to see this," she muttered, placing the flowers on his nightstand.

"Nanay, what are those?" Michael reached for the flower, but was stopped.

"Don't touch that Michael, only heaven knows what's in it." She sighed and closed the book. "Come here, anak. I'll tell you what just happened."

It was a disease, she told Michael. A disease where, if you love someone and they don't love you back, then you start coughing up flower petals. The only way to cure the disease is for the person you love to love you back, or to have surgery and remove the flowers.

"The surgery is expensive," Michael's mother sighed. "But I suppose it's worth it."

"Who gave you your flowers, nanay? And what happens when you don't get the surgery or if that person doesn't love you back?"

She grimaced. "Those are things you don't need to know. Now come on, it's past your bedtime."

"But nanay--"

"Michael, we will talk about this later."

"...Okay."

Michael's mother tucked him in and kissed him goodnight. After she turned off the lights, turned on his night light, and grabbed her flowers, she sat on his bed.

"Don't tell your father about this, okay? Pinky promise me, Michael." Michael nodded and linked pinkies with his mother before she left him to fall asleep.

Michael's father died shortly after that. A car crash; head on collision. He remembered his mother’s tremors suddenly stopping, and when he opened the trashcan, he didn't see flower petals anymore. His dad was gone, but his mother wasn’t sick anymore. So, Michael carried on with his life, the petals vanishing from his mind.

\--

The second time was in 9th grade. He was having lunch, and went to the boy's bathroom to find a boy coughing up the petals of forget-me-nots into the trash can.

Michael’s first impulse was to walk away and pretend that it never happened. Which he was going to do, and then memories of his mother’s flowers came to his mind.

After a particularly bad bout of flowers, she had lied down in her bed, trying to catch her breath. Michael made a cup of green tea for her, and as she took small sips, she whispered, “Oh Michael, I hope you never catch this disease. It’s the worst experience you’ll ever have.” She lets her head fall back with a sigh. “Thank you for holding my hair back. The vomiting is awful, but you can make it a bit more bearable.”

“Great,” he thought to himself as the kid gags once more. “Now I’m just guilt tripping myself into helping him.”

Michael treads forward slowly and clears his throat. "Do you need help?" He asks quietly. The boy jumped up in shock, then promptly resumed coughing up flowers. Michael noticed the light blue petals in the boys hair. "Uh, should I hold your hair back?"

The boy stops, gasping for air. He nods briefly, and then starts to straight up vomit. Michael runs over to him and pulls back coarse strands of strawberry blonde hair, picking out the blue flecks and throwing them in the trash can. 

Momentarily, the kid seems to choke. Michael almost panics, and then he sees the kid reach into his mouth and tear out blood covered, thorny vines. The sight makes him queasy, but he swallows the bile in his throat down. He couldn't throw up, he didn’t have the right, not when this kid was practically ripping barbs out of his esophagus.

After that, the boy’s coughing stops. Michael gets a napkin and hands it to him. The boy nods his appreciation, and Michael glances at the mess left behind. The trash can had an entire layer of blue forget-me-not petals, with a few full flowers sprinkled around. The thorny stems lay on top of the petals in a bloody fiasco.

"It's been 3 years," the boy chuckled, dabbing at his blood-stained lips. Michael turned towards the victim, surprised at how weak he sounded. "I've already fucked things up with her, and my family can't afford the surgery. The doctor says I'll probably die in the following weeks."

"You can die from the Hanahaki Disease?"

"Yes. You haven't heard? It's what happens to people who don't get the surgery or the love." The boy smiles weakly, his hands shaking with fatigue. "It's also been growing on my skin." He pulls his shirt collar down a little to reveal a thorny stem with tiny blue buds sprouting from it.

Michael gasps softly. "That looks awful. Doesn't it hurt?"

The boy shrugs and lets his shirt go. "Well, yeah. But it'll be over soon." He closes his eyes and pushes back his bangs. "Honestly, even if I could afford the surgery, I don't think I'd get it."

Michael tilts his head in confusion. "What? Why? You'd survive."

"Well, yeah. But the surgery has a side effect that they don't tell you about. I think it's because they don't want you dying for what they think is a dumb reason. And they get money off it too.

Anyway, the surgery removes your ability to feel emotions. And, well, I don't want a life without feeling."

The boy stood up and turned on the school sinks. With the clean part of his paper towel, he started to wash the blood from his face with water. "Feeling emotions is what people stay alive for. It's what makes life good. I feel like, if you take those away, then there’s no point in staying alive." He finishes and turns to Michael. "Does that make sense?"

Michael nodded. "I get where you're coming from. But, uh… are you not… uncomfortable? I mean, we just met, and this feels very personal.”

The boy flashed a weak smile. "Soon, it won’t matter. Thanks for listening to me, uh..."

"Michael."

"Michael. Thank you. I’m Ryan. Remember me, okay?"

"Will do."

When Ryan's face appeared in the school newspaper the next week, Michael couldn't find it in him to act shocked.

"Isn't it awful?" Jeremy mutters, flipping through the pages. "He couldn't even get the petals removed. Maybe he'd still be alive if he could."

Michael thought back to what Ryan said in the bathroom, and shook his head. "I dunno. We all have our reasons."

\--

The third time was today, in the bathroom of a party.

Now, Michael only had one friend throughout his life. Jeremy. As unhealthy as it was, Jeremy was Michael's lifeline. He was almost completely dependent on him for emotional stability.

He never expected Jeremy to leave him at any point. After all, through 12 years of friendship, Michael and Jeremy were still going strong. It was a friendship that was hard to come across. Michael had broken his wrist for his friend, and Jeremy had taken two punches in the face for him. Michael kept little mementos of their time together in a shoebox hidden in the depths of his closet, and Jeremy kept Michael's Polaroid pictures of them together in a portfolio. They had matching Pacman tattoos and still kept the friendship bracelets they made in 3rd grade. Jeremy leaving Michael was, reasonably, the least of Michael's worries.

But now, Michael thinks that, maybe, he should've worried more. Especially after Jeremy got that SQUIP. The fucking nanoscopic Japanese Siri rip-off.

"Get out of my way. Loser."

Michael was rocking back and forth on the bathroom floor, ignoring the cold tile, the knocking on the door, and the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Fucking asshole, thinks he has the goddamn nerve to just leave Michael like this; alone, with a panic attack, in the bathroom of some stupid party he should've never come to in the first place.

The banging on the bathroom door gets louder, and Michael can feel his lungs constrict. A tremor runs through his chest as he tried to clear his throat. He stands up and splashes water on his face. It grounds him enough to answer the banging on the door.

Which, oddly enough, has stopped.

Michael, still shaking, glances at himself in the mirror. He's a mess; his glasses were askew and his face was red and blotchy. Snot was running from his nose, and his tears were on the verge of spilling. He finds himself missing those days when he and Jeremy were just two dumb kids hanging out in their pillow fort, promising each other things they'd forget about in a few years. 

He found himself missing Jeremy, the tall, bitter, ball of anxiety with the libido of a rabbit in heat, who's constantly unsatisfied with his life and sometimes acts like a dick. Jeremy who also wears clothes that are too big for him and has a wheezy laugh that only Michael finds attractive. 

Michael missed Jeremy, the guy who remembers his birthday every year and pronounces his Tagalog and Spanish atrociously. Jeremy who would run to Michael's house at the crack ass of dawn to comfort him, or play Apocalypse of the Damned, or get stoned.

He's so tired of this superficial version of his best friend. Michael wants Jeremy Heere, the best person he knows, and perhaps, one of the few he loves.

The tremor turns into a cough. Michael spits out a white flower petal. Then two. Then four. Seven.

He stares at the petals in his hand, coated with saliva. His tears spill.

"Shit," he sobs. "I'm going to die for this asshole."

\--

As he stumbled through the front door, Michael thanked God (or whoever the fuck is out there) that at least his mother was working that night. He doesn't have time to worry about the soot on his sweater; the petals climbing up his throat were bringing him to his bathroom.

Michael coughed out yet another petal into his bathroom sink. The petals are small, white at the tips and fade into a warm yellow at the bottom. With what little energy he has, he pulls out his phone and consults google for the name of the flower sprouting out of his lungs.

Michael learns that he was coughing up the petals of a white Ambrosia flower. It symbolized requited love.

He laughs bitterly before collapsing on his bed, not bothering to clean up the mess he made.

Michael woke up to his mother combing through his hair with her fingertips, the potent smell of pancakes wafting into his room. She smiled at him sadly.

"I saw your petals. Is it Jeremy?"

The memories of last night flood Michael's mind like a tidal wave, and he feels the hot tears coming, the gentle quivering of his lip.

"Well who- who else could it be?" he chokes out, his voice raw with emotion.

His mother lets him skip school that day.


	2. i wish u cared enough 2 know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael puts his pants on, and throws up a little along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh this chapter is 2000+ words.... i was aiming for 1,500............

The next day, Michael found himself on his front porch. He was wearing only a black t-shirt and his alien boxers as he held a blunt between his fingers, throwing aforementioned friendship mementos into an ash can. He picked up a random item from the shoebox.

Michael’s lips curl into what could only be described as the ghost of a smile. “Magic the Gathering card he gave me for the birthday no one else remembered…”

On that day, nobody even acknowledged the existence of the shy, Pacman- obsessed boy in the back of the class. Except Jeremy, of course. During recess, Jeremy ran up to Michael, yelled, “Michael, happy birthday!”, and handed him this card, which Michael had wanted for weeks. He remembered the bomb-ass sleepover they had at his house, where they played hours past their bedtime. Michael never forgot the happiness he had felt that day.

Michael felt his throat itch, and swallows petals down. That happiness was now tarnished; he had no need for it anymore. “Burn it,” he muttered, throwing the card into the can.

He takes a hit from his blunt and picks out another memento out of the shoebox as he exhales, the smoke billowing out of his mouth. 

“Ticket stub from our first concert. Weird Al.”

He and Jeremy loved Weird Al back then. After his mom bought the tickets, Michael went to school and energetically rambled about the tickets to Jeremy with a wide grin. “It’s going to be so much fun,” he giggled, “and guess what? We got a ticket for you!” Michael remembers Jeremy yelling excitedly with him in the midst of the middle school hallways, not caring that they were attracting attention. In a rare show of affection, Jeremy squeezed Michael, almost lifting him up. “I’m so excited, I can't wait!”

Suddenly, Michael harshly coughs. White flecks scatter on the cracked paint of his porch. He grimaces at the slimy petals and tosses the ticket stub into the ash can. “Super burn it.”

“Michael!” Michael turns towards the voice, and sees Jeremy’s Dad, who's wearing… pants?

Michael hides his joint and upon closer inspection, sees that Mr. Heere was only wearing thermal underwear. “Mr. Heere, what are you doing here?”

Mr. Heere leans against the porch rails, trying to catch his breath. Did he run to Michael's house? “We need to talk about Jeremy.”

Michael’s stomach drops at the the mention of his former best friend. “Sorry, Jeremy and I aren't friends anymore--”

“Do you love him?”

He almost has a stroke. “What?”

Mr. Heere gestures to the cluster of petals on the ground. Michael opens his mouth to explain, and then closes it, realizing that his denial was pointless.

“Look, he can be a little shit sometimes,” Mr. Heere continued, his eyes softening in sympathy. “We both know that. But that's no excuse to sit around burning incense while he turns himself into a monster!”

Michael feels another cluster crawling up his throat, and turns towards the front door. “Yeaaah, I’m gonna--”

Suddenly, Jeremy’s dad is blocking the way. When the hell did he get so fast?

“I need you, Michael. I don't have the tools to help with what he's going through, but I know you know all the rules.”

Michael looks away, swallowing down petals. “But I’m not what he wants.”

“But you're just what he needs!” Mr. Heere insists. “I’ve had Hanahaki before, and this might be hard, I know. But right now, you need to just suck it up and go!”

Because when you love somebody, you take a stance just for them. If the fight gets bloody, you keep pushing until the pain is gone. When you love somebody, you… you put your pants on.”

“...Metaphorically? Or literally? Because from what I’m hearing, you're here... because you need… pants?”

“Oh no, I need you to reach out to Jeremy. He won't listen to me, and I can't really blame him. But someone’s gotta watch his back.”

Michael crosses his arms. “If I try harder to be his friend, you have to try harder to be his dad. There's a Kohl’s down the street. I don't care what kind-- jeans, khaki, leather. You’re not leaving that store until you buy a pair of pants. Deal?” He holds out his palm.

Jeremy’s dad pauses. “You drive a hard bargain, son.” He firmly shakes Michael’s hand.

\--

And so, that was how Michael found himself surrounded by a hoard of SQUIP zombies. Although he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest, he felt strangely calm. Well, at least he had that to be proud of. Any lesser man would be squipped and regretting his actions. 

Then again, a better one would probably be at home jacking off, not here at all. 

Jenna Rolan loomed in front of him, blocking his way to Jeremy. “I know what you’re doing, Michael,” she booms. “I know what everyone’s doing. All the time!”

“I just feel so connected to you guys right now!” The SQUIP hoard says in unison.

Michael peeks over Jenna’s shoulder and spots Jeremy, emotions flashing on his face like pages in a flip book. He squeezes the bottle of Mountain Dew Red in his hand and backs up a little farther.

“Jeremy! Catch!” And he makes the shot.

Jeremy jumps up and grabs the bottle in mid-air. Michael smiles. All that Wii Sports Resort wasn't for nothing after all.

“Told ya Jeremy,” he thinks to himself before the SQUIP hoard restrains him. They shove Mountain Dew and a grey oblong pill down his throat. Michael’s instincts tell him that he could either swallow or choke, and his hazy judgement decides that he’s choked enough for today. 

“Michael!” Jeremy screams before he blacks out.

\--

Michael suddenly sat up awake in a hospital bed. The rapid beep of what sounds like a heart monitor feels loud and piercing. As he took deep breaths, trying to slow down his breathing (and heart rate), he became aware of the electrodes on his chest. Blinking furiously, he blindly looks around for his glasses, only to find their vague figure on a nightstand two feet away. He settles back down in his bed, and recalls what little memories he has.

Michael was burning the contents of the shoebox. Jeremy’s dad convinced him to save Jeremy’s sorry ass. They went to Kohl's and bought pants for Mr.Heere. Michael then went to the play. He and Jeremy had a weird (but kinda badass) Kung-Fu fight as Jeremy spat out a sad excuse for an apology (they’ll have a formal talk about it later, probably). He then tried (and failed) to give Jeremy the Mountain Dew Red. They then did some kickass parkour, Michael threw Jeremy what was left of the Mountain Dew Red, and was squipped.

...Then what happened?

_“You don't want to drink that, Jeremy.”_

_“And why not?”_

_“Because then you’ll never be with her.”_

Michael swallows down petals. Ah yeah, that’s right. The SQUIP tried to use Christine to make Jeremy drop the Mountain Dew Red. And Jeremy gave the Mountain Dew Red to Christine, which turned her SQUIP off, and then created a chain reaction where everyone's SQUIP turned off. Including Michaels.

He can't help but grin. The SQUIPS must’ve been interconnected for such a chain reaction to happen. And Michael was happy that they were gone, but that had to be the most kickass demonstration of modern technology he’s ever seen.

“Michael Mell?” Michael turned to see a young nurse smiling at him. “We don’t see any problems concerning your health, so you’re free to go.”

“Is Jeremy okay?” Michael blurts out. 

“Oh, are you talking about Jeremy Heere? He’s in the room next door.”

“...Can I see him?”

\--

When Michael steps in the room, the first thing he sees is Jeremy, hooked up to the EKG machine. His ash-brown hair is fanned out against his face, and his cheeks are slowly regaining their color. Michael smiles and sighs in relief as he brushes his best friend’s hair behind his ear. He’ll be fine, probably.

“Hey, it's you.”

Michael jumps and turns to the voice to see Rich in a full body cast. A part of him is still wary of the former bully, but another wants to get used to him. So he talks.

“Hey, Rich.”

“Hi! You’re Michael, right? Are you Jeremy’s boyfriend?”

Michael almost chokes on a flower. “U-Uh, no. I’m just his friend. What even gave you that idea?”

Rich shrugged. “I know what that look on your face was just now. You were practically making heart eyes at the guy. If you just so happen to like him, or if you don’t really like me, I won’t judge.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “...Okay then. Has Jeremy woken up at all?”

“No. But Jeremy was totally delirious when he came in, dude. He was mumbling and asking for you too. He said something about apologizing, but then he passed out.”

A cough wracks Michael’s chest, and he quickly coughs into his sleeve. He distantly hears Rich ask him if he’s okay as he coughs up a slimy ambrosia bud. As he pulls away from his hoodie sleeve and starts to pick off the slimy petals and bud, he realizes Rich was staring at him.

“Well,” he sighs. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Oh my god,” Rich mutters. “I’m so sorry.”

Michael shook his head. “Don’t be.”

“It’s totally Jeremy isn't it? Oh god, I should’ve never started talking about him in the first place--”

“Rich.”

“And now you’re throwing up petals, that’s the worst feeling in the world--”

“Rich! I’m okay.” Michael tosses the petals in the trash. “Let’s just… stop talking about Jeremy, okay?”

“...Okay. Just know that if you need someone to talk to or hang out with that’s not Jeremy or Christine, I’m here dude.”

Michael smiles. “I appreciate it. And, don't tell Jeremy about this. Please.”

Rich nods with what little room his cast would allow him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

\--

A few days later, Michael is about to light up a joint in his basement when someone calls him.

“Mr.Heere?”

“Hey Michael. Jeremy’s awake now, but I’m not going to be there as soon as I hoped. I know you live closer to the hospital, so could you visit him for me? Maybe explain what happened for him?”

He’s already at the front door. “I’m on my way.”

\--

When Michael walks in, he can hear Jeremy and Rich having a conversation behind the hospital curtains.

“...your buddy. Anti-social headphones kid? He’s been by like, a ton, by the way. What is he, your boyfriend? No judgement. Just curious. Totally bi now.”

Michael doesn’t think he could listen to Jeremy’s reply without throwing up two pounds of petals, so he draws back the curtain and smiles at Rich.

“I’m sure some special someone will be lucky to have you, Rich.” Michael walks over to Rich’s curtain.

“You think?” He asks.

“Absolutely,” Michael chuckles as he pulls the hospital curtain shut on Jeremy’s hospital roommate.

“Michael, what happened? All I remember is that noise, and--”

“Oh man, it was genius!” Michael grinned as he excitedly explained the technology behind the SQUIPs. “They were communicating with each other-- they were linked! Which means… when you consider the kind of high-frequency sonic disturbance needed to wipe a system that powerful--”

“Michael,” Jeremy interrupts, rubbing his temples. “My head still hurts.”

Michael smiles sheepishly. “Right, ah...” He continues in a quieter voice. “Turns out you don’t have to destroy every SQUIP. Just one. And the rest… Boom boom boom.” He mimes explosions with the sound effects, for visualization purposes.

Jeremy stares at him, bewildered. And then suddenly pulls him close in a hug.

“Oh,” Michael mutters in surprise. He genuinely laughed for the first time in weeks and affectionately pats Jeremy’s head. “Miss you too, Jer-Bear.” The bespectacled teen suddenly realizes that he could breathe properly for the first time in days.

“I don’t get it.” Jeremy’s voice was muffled by Michael’s sweater. “After everything I did… you-you were still… still there for me.” Jeremy’s voice cracks a little. “Why?”

“Well, I can’t just let my _favowite pewson_ destroy himself like that. Then what am I going to say at his eulogy? ‘My best friend vored an overpowered Japanese Siri because he wanted to be cool and died because of it’?”

Jeremy snorts at this. “Besides,” Michael continues, “ I can’t take all the credit. Your dad can be shockingly persuasive.”

Jeremy looks up at Michael. “Did you just say “your dad”? As in, my dad? Mr.Heere dad?”

“Yeah, that one. I have two lesbian moms, who else?”

Jeremy’s dad enters the room. Jeremy lets go of Michael and he feels like his lungs have constricted once again. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

“Jeremy, are you okay?” Mr. Heere asks, his concerned dad face activated.

“Actually, I’m great--”

“Good, because you’re grounded. You’re going to see some serious changes young man, starting… what?”

Jeremy is staring at his dad’s brand new khakis. “Dad, you’re wearing….”

“What? I’m your father, and I wear the pants around here! Now let's get to business; who’s this Christine person, and why did I have to hear about her from him?” Mr.Heere jabs at Michael. He could only shrug at Jeremy’s look of false betrayal.

“She is kinda the reason you got into this mess,” Michael explained.

Jeremy sighs. “Well, it doesn't matter. After what I did, I’m lucky if she wants to go to the same school as me.” Mr.Heere gave Michael a worried look, and Michael shot a tired one back. “...What?”

“It’s reassuring,” Michael says, pausing to force down petals. “He still doesn't know anything about girls.”

\--

When Michael gets back home, he hovered over the toilet and let out the mess he had been holding back the entire hospital visit.


	3. im sorry all my thoughts r abt u

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies are made and accepted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh i hate writing dialogue sometimes  
> and @michelle thank you for being a bro and checking my writing

A few weeks after the SQUIP ordeal, Michael found himself getting used to the many aspects of his new life. The constant suffocation and petals, the dull ache his heart felt when he thought of Jeremy, the four liters of Mountain Dew Red in his mini fridge, and the growing distance between him and his best friend were just a few he could list off at the moment.

It was 3 am. Michael found himself smiling bitterly as he leaned over his toilet, staring down at his petals. His life was going great right now. It must be amazing for Jeremy, though. Jeremy and Christine sat together now during lunch, with the SQUIP squad (as Rich liked to call them) at their table in the corner of the lunchroom, far far away from him, at his own table which he used to share with Jeremy--

Michael coughs up a few petals and lets out a sigh. He's allowed to sit with them, since he got squipped at the play and is therefore technically part of the SQUIP squad, but when they all talked amongst each other like they've know each other for years, it made him stick out like a sore thumb. Jenna was a table-hopper, Jeremy and Christine had each other, same with Jake and Rich, and Chloe and Brooke. Letting Michael sit there would be like buying a vaguely interesting game, and then leaving it on the shelf to collect dust.

Seeing the SQUIP squad all together also lead to thinking of Jeremy, which tended to lead to Christine, which lead to thinking of Jeremy and Christine as a couple, and then 5 more minutes of regurgitating petals. He couldn't think about his best friend anymore without triggering a fountain of petals from his throat, which was a problem, since he really wanted a sincere apology from him.

His mind set up the ideal scene. They'd be in Jeremy’s room, or Michael's basement (preferably Michael’s basement, like the old times). Jeremy would probably cry, and Michael would insist that he forgave him (even though an itsy-bitsy part of him never can). Maybe they could chill on the beanbags for awhile after that, and maybe Jeremy will let Michael be close enough so that they could take a nap in each other's embrace, and Michael could sleep with a clear throat and a lighter heart.

If only he could have the luxury of sleeping in Jeremy’s arms every night. Was that too much to ask from life? He didn't even need Jeremy to like him in any romantic way, he just needed his presence, his smell and touch, his smile, him--

Michael coughed out 3 ambrosia buds. With a sigh, he flushed the toilet and walked back to his room in the basement.

That was enough pining for tonight.

\--

The next day, he nervously walks up to the SQUIP squad table, aiming for Jenna’s empty seat. She was sitting at a different table today, so Michael could just grab her spot, right between Rich and Jeremy. Just as planned.

“Uh, hey,” he manages to say. 12 eyes are suddenly turned to him, and it's a miracle that he hasn't fainted yet. “D’you guys mind if I sit here…?”

A moment passes before Christine smiles and nods. “You’re always welcome here, Michael.” Michael visibly relaxes, and lets go of a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

Rich grins and pats the empty seat. “Mikey, my guy! This seat’s all yours!” Michael can't help but smile at Rich’s enthusiasm as he sits down, laying out his sashimi and 7/11 slushie in front of him. He's splitting his chopsticks and pouring the soy sauce packets in a dish when he notices that Rich and Jake are watching him intently.

“Uh. Are you two okay?” Michael asks, holding the bamboo chopsticks in his fingers. 

Rich and Jake nod. “Yeah, go on,” Jake says. “Keep going.”

As Michael mixes wasabi and lemon juice with the soy sauce, he realizes that Rich and Jake aren't watching him, but rather, what he's doing. Michael picks up a piece of sashimi with his chopsticks and dips it in his soy sauce, and as soon as the salmon is in his mouth, Rich and Jake let out a cheer.

“That was amazing!” Rich almost yelled. “I’ve never been able to do that, how do you do it?”

“Using chopsticks? Oh, it's just a little secret called being Asian.”

Michael can hear Jeremy snort next to him, and he inwardly celebrates his small accomplishment. “You're Filipino, not Japanese,” Jeremy chuckles. 

You turn around and stick your tongue at him. “Shut up Jeremy, they don't know that.”

Rich rolled his eyes playfully. “We do now. But seriously dude, how do you do it?”

Michael shows him his hand. “You hold the first stick like a pencil… yeah like that. And then you hold the second stick between your index and thumb finger…..”

After 5 failed attempts at grabbing a lemon slice on Michael's tray, Rich gives up, holds one stick in each of his hands and tries to pick the lemon slice up. Michael and the rest of the table collectively decide that it's for the best if Rich doesn't touch a pair of chopsticks ever again in his life.

Near the end of lunch, Michael feels the pressure once again. He stares at Jeremy, letting the dread in his gut simmer and boil for a bit longer, until he notices him.

“Michael?” Jeremy tilts his head, blinking at him with a cautious gaze. “You good?”

“Uh, yeah. I just--”

The bell rings. It's now or never. “I was just wondering if you'd like to come over today,” Michael blurts out. “Just chill and play video games, y’know. Like the old times.”

Jeremy smiles at him as he starts to clean up his lunch. It's a bit stressed, but it's there, and Michael couldn't ask for anything better. “That sounds nice. I’ll be there at 7; I’m going to see a movie after school with Christine, so…”

Michael nods. “Understandable. See you then.” Michael understands, of course he does, he always does because he's Michael, the loner, the stoner, the best friend of Jeremy Heere, who will never be anything more than that--

A cough wracks Michael's chest, and he's starting to cough petals out in the middle of the half-empty lunchroom. He swallows petals back down, but they keep coming back up. As he hunches over, Jeremy and Christine glance over at him with worried eyes.

“Michael, are you okay?” Christine asks. “Are you sick? Do you need some water?”

“It's alright guys,” Rich says, grinning his usual grin. “Mikey here is just a little sick, but I can take care of him in the bathroom. Don't worry about it.”

Jeremy nods at Rich, and his gaze returns to Michael. “Take care of yourself,” he says, patting his back before walking out with Christine. Michael’s coughs grow stronger, and before he knew it, he’s retching up petals in the school bathroom as Rich comfortingly rubbed his back.

“You know,” Rich muttered as Michael tried to catch his breath, “I don't think you should stay by Jeremy or Christine for too long. Especially when they're together.”

He returns to class with a raw throat and more anxiety than before. This apology plan was going to be harder than he thought.

\--

It was 6:50. Knowing Jeremy, he'd probably be here earlier than needed, so Michael was expecting Jeremy to walk in at any moment. As if confirming his suspicions, Jeremy walked in his basement as Michael was starting up his console.

“Hey, I brought Oreos.”

“Double Stuf?”

“Of course.”

“My man,” Michael chuckled, plopping down on his red beanbag as Jeremy sat down on his corresponding blue one. They play Apocalypse of the Damned for 10 minutes before Michael picks up on the fact that Jeremy is not thinking of the game, but rather, something else.

“You look distracted.” Jeremy turns to Michael, a pitiful expression on his face. Michael only offers a weak smile. “A penny for your thoughts?”

Jeremy pauses the game. “...You didn’t invite me here for video games, did you.” It's more of a statement than a question. Michael shrugged.

“Well I can't just let you go. That apology at the Play was shitty and we both know it.”

Jeremy turns off the console and shifts towards Michael with a rather meek expression. “It's been, like, 2 weeks since the Play, yeah? Well, 2 weeks is a long ass time for me to think about what happened. And like, I fucked up a lot, Michael. It reminds me every day.”

“It?”

Jeremy shrugs, and pulls his knees close to his chest. “Sometimes the SQUIP comes back. I asked Rich about it, and apparently mine only goes into some sort of sleep mode when I give it Mountain Dew Red.”

Michael moved over to sit on Jeremy’s beanbag and gazed at him intently. “Does it ever say things?”

He nods. “Yeah. It tells me that I’m a waste of space.” Jeremy flinches, and quickly backtracks upon seeing Michael’s look of anger. “It really isn't that bad. The real kicker is when it tells me I’m terrible. Because… it's right.”

Michael shakes his head furiously. “No, Jeremy, you know that's not true.”

“I know you’re trying to be a good person, Michael,” Jeremy sighs. “But I’ve done things that I’ll regret for the rest of my life.” He looks away, hiding his face. “I got so used to listening to it that I started to act like it. I would act like a selfish prick and act without considering other people's emotions. I told off my dad and was an overall brat to him. I saw you as an obstacle that was in the way of me dating Christine. When I started acting like an asshole, it wasn't the SQUIP, it was me.”

Michael feels his heart throb and his throat itch, but he pushes it down. He couldn't look weak right now; not when Jeremy's pouring out his heart in front of him. His emotions could wait.

“But Michael, it kinda... makes me wonder why nobody tried to stop me.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Like. I was turning into an awful person. I mean, sure, the SQUIP was telling me what to do, but I was just choosing to do it. And like, it makes me wonder why nobody reached out.

And then, it makes me really angry. Not even you tried to stop me.”

Michael feels his stomach drop.

“I was turning into a monster, and you were already set on just letting me do that. It took my fucking dad to convince you to stop me, and he was already an inattentive father.”

Jeremy's fists are clenched, and trembling with anger. “Did anybody care? Did you care, Michael?” 

Michael swallowed down petals. Jeremy's words were cutting him up like a knife. “I did try to help you that night,” Michael whispered, trying to hide his cracking voice. “You just didn't listen to me.”

“But did you really think I would listen?” Jeremy mutters. “Did you really try? If you really were trying, then you would've brought a bottle of Mountain Dew Red. And yet, you didn't!” Jeremy’s voice was getting louder, more shaky. “That was lovely for both of us, wasn't it Michael?!”

Michael can almost see the bathroom before his own eyes, his mind remembering how it felt when his flowers rose from his throat for the first time. “Well I think you’re being a bit selfish,” he bites back. “Especially since you abandoned my after 12 years for a social standing that wouldn't even matter in 2 years, and a girl you barely knew!”

Jeremy’s eyes widen in anger. “Don’t pull Christine into this.”

Michael shuts his mouth. Perhaps mentioning the Christine was a little too much. Perhaps Jeremy’s endeavors weren't as foolish. Perhaps, Jeremy truly did love Christine.

The familiar tickling sensation in his throat rose immediately, and Michael covered his mouth, swallowing down what felt like five flower buds. He cleared his throat and glanced at Jeremy.

Jeremy was picking at the carpet, his eyes locked on his fingers. Michael sighed. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“No shit.”

Michael flinched. He knew Jeremy wasn't in the most rational state of mind, but it didn't stop his words from stinging. Why did emotions have to be so hard? “I know you don't want to say sorry anymore, so I’ll say it first.”

Jeremy looks up at him. “I’m sorry for letting the SQUIP go too far,” Michael continues, tucking flower petals under his tongue. “I… should've tried harder to stop you.”

He looks away. “Jeremy, I mean it,” Michael says, tears forming at the edges of his eyes. “I'm saying sorry because I want you to forgive me.” His voice cracks and trembles a few times, and he feels his throat get tighter. “Really.” He can feel the petals crawling up now, rising past his esophagus and into his mouth, like spiders.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy finally replies. “For…. everything. For leaving you behind. For calling you a loser. For saying you didn't care about me just now. Everything.”

When Jeremy finally looks back at Michael, he can see him crying too. “You’ve stuck with me for 12 years. Even when I pushed you away, you'd always come back. You always cared. You… deserve a better friend than me, Michael.”

Michael wraps his arms around him. “Even if I did, I wouldn't ever trade anyone for you.”

Jeremy lets out a harsh sob and breaks down in Michael's arms. He doesn't notice the tremors in his best friend’s chest.

“Wanna crash here?”

“...Yeah.”

\--

The flush of the kitchen bathroom toilet is all Michael can hear after coughing up a fully grown flower. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, with tired eyes and white petals clinging to his sweater. After he picks them off, his thoughts are only about sleep, which bring him downstairs into his room in the basement.

When he sees Jeremy asleep in his bed, Michael can't help but embrace his best friend as he lay down. The pressure on his lungs unravels, and he breathes deeply with a smile on his face.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jer-bear,” Michael whispers, watching Jeremy’s chest rise and fall.

“Even if it kills me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo guess who's going to shamelessly self promote themselves? 
> 
> my tumblr is @plantsandrain! come say hi/yell at me
> 
> edit: 100+ kudos????? y'all are amazing!


	4. the torture of small talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone hits the fast forward button on Michael's life.
> 
> He also blinks a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a religious section in this chapter so if you're uncomfortable with that you can just skip that part (or the chapter) altogether when you see the ***

After regaining his best friend, Michael found himself listlessly flying through life. The days seemed to pass too fast, as if someone hit the fast forward button and nobody bothered to press stop.

\--

He blinks, and he's at the doctor’s office, staring at an aging Filipino man in a white labcoat. The man stares back disapprovingly.

“It’s better to remove the flowers before it gets bad,” the doctor says to Michael’s mother. “But since he’s not eligible to have the surgery until he’s 18, we’ll focus on making his life as painless as possible.”

He turns to Michael. “So, Michael. Your Hanahaki has been progressing quick, so your throat is already getting a bit narrow. Looking at this, and your ABG measurements, I've decided that you should wear a nasal cannula.” Upon Michael’s panicked expression, he hastily adds, “Only during sleep, of course. You’re fine when you’re awake, but your breathing rate will get slower when you are asleep. So the cannula will help.”

“Can’t I do anything else?”

“Well, you could sleep with the person who caused your Hanahaki. I’ve heard that it makes breathing easier on your lungs. Although, you couldn't do that.” The doctor chuckles, clapping his hand on Michael’s shoulder. Michael flinches, visibly uncomfortable. “We wouldn’t want the poor girl to be uncomfortable, would we?”

Michael is glaringly aware of the POC pride patch on his sweater as he puts on his best fake smile and says, “No sir.”

When they’re driving home, his mother sighs. “He said girl. Do you think he’s ever had a gay patient? Or seen the gay pride flag?”

Michael laughs, then stops. It's hard to breathe if you laugh too hard.

\--

He blinks, and he's at school, the day before winter break. It's lunch, and the entire SQUIP squad is exchanging presents for the secret santa thing that Christine and Brooke came up with.

“You’ve had those old headphones for 3 years now,” Jeremy explains as Michael holds his new Bose headphones in his arms. “I thought you might’ve needed new ones by now.”

Michael looks Jeremy in the eye and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’d die for you,” Michael says (which isn’t a lie; he’s halfway there). Jeremy laughed, and Michael smiled and played it off as a joke (although it was the opposite).

“We also have an announcement!” Christine chirps, grabbing Jeremy’s hand. “We’re going steady now!” 

Jeremy grin sheepishly, and he gazes upon Christine with adoration and happiness. The entire table gives an enthusiastic round of applause, and Michael does his best to clap the loudest. Jeremy deserved it. He deserved it all; the happiness, the friends, the girl of his dreams. And even though Michael was suffering for it, he didn’t feel bitter at all. He felt a sort of calm contentedness that one could only feel in a situation such as this. Death seemed surreal, and all he cared about were the people around him.

“ _Is this how dying people feel?_ ” Michael wonders to himself as he coughs into his sleeve, hiding his petals.

\--

He blinks, and he’s in his basement. It’s cold, and Michael wants nothing more than to snuggle in his bed and sleep. But Michael is not Jeremy’s first priority anymore, and he refuses to let this time with Jeremy go to waste. 

“Are you okay, Michael?” Jeremy asks him. “You’ve been coughing a lot recently. Actually, for a month now.”

Michael freezes, metaphorically pulling an excuse out of his ass. “Well, uh. During the Halloween fire, I kinda… got stuck in the bathroom. And my lungs are damaged from the smoke. It gets hard to breathe sometimes, long coughing fits, y’know, all that jazz.”

Upon Jeremy’s guilty expression, Michael regrets every word he’s ever said. “Hey now, don’t give me that look. None of that was your fault.”

“But it kinda wa-”

“Shh, no. Bad.” 

“Michael, there’s an oxygen tank by your bed--”

“Jeremiah Heere, we do not blame ourselves for shit we didn't do in this gotdamn household.” Michael buries the overbearing guilt of lying through acting and humor. He puts on his most convincing smile and hooks his arm around Jeremy’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t feel guilty. It's not your fault that my lungs suck at being lungs. At this point, the only person who’s not forgiving you is you.”

Jeremy sighs and looks back at his controller. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for dude. Now come on, let's play Mario Kart or something.”

Michael needs to get better at improvisation.

***

He blinks, and he’s in his church. It’s before the last mass of Simbang Gabi. The pen is in his hand, and as he stares at the black prayer book, he finds himself out of ideas of what to write down.

Now, Michael wasn’t exactly the most religious person. His “Catholic” faith was just… there. Yet his mother insisted that he wrote something in the black prayer book, which the priest would mention in the church’s prayers.

Over the years, Michael has written some pretty dumb shit in there. He has asked Jesus for a rare Pokémon card. He has asked God for a better mother after his mom scolded him for playing with Jeremy after his bedtime. But Michael heard, that if someone completes all nine days of Simbang Gabi, a request in the church prayers would be granted.

And if the prayers in the prayer book are part of the church prayers, then, well. Michael doesn’t think that writing something serious in the book would be such a bad idea.

He writes something in the binder and sits by his mom.

\--

“Our response is, “Lord hear our prayer.” ”

The prayer book is lying open, with the requests of church-goers scribed across its pages. One in particular stands out, written in a glittery red pen.

“Dear Lord, please let me live long enough to see him happy.”

The priest’s voice echoes. “For the prayers written in our prayer book, we pray.”

The attendees respond in unison. “Lord hear our prayer.”

***

He blinks. It’s April, and Michael is studying for the ACT. It’s very unlike him to study, since he tends to remember information well, but it’s the ACT. He can’t mess this up. And if that wasn't enough, he has to take the SAT too for the university he wants to attend.

Ah yes, the university thing is also new. It is also very unlike Michael to want to go to a university. He was planning to go to a community college with Jeremy. They both came up with the idea in freshman year; they would live together in a house with cheap rent. They'd get stoned in its basement, play video games when there wasn’t class, and live an easygoing life. Together.

Things took a turn when Jeremy found a new passion in theater (thanks to Christine). Jeremy was now planning on living somewhere with her. They wanted to pursue their dream careers together.

Michael leans back in his chair with a somber smile. Jeremy is changing so much because of Christine, and it’s for the better. When Michael was his first priority, Jeremy was only focused on surviving. Life was a struggle that he was barely getting through. Christine has given Jeremy a sort of fire that Michael could never hope to have. Jeremy was striving, he had a goal, he wanted to do more than his best.

Michael was just here. Hardly trying, floating through life without a plan. A static character in his own autobiography, destined for death. Since he’s likely to die in the following years (or months if everything goes to shit), Michael figures that he should try to die in his prime.

So now he's here, with average grades, studying for a test for the first time in months, hoping to get into a university. Not even acknowledging the fact that he might die soon. How morbid.

Michael’s chest lurched, and he couldn't hold it anymore. He grabbed his plastic trash bin and coughed up an ambrosia flower. A petal drips from his lips, saliva clinging to its surface. He sighs and turns back to the practice test in front of him. He has a long month ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm very sorry for not posting this sooner :'^) i needed some time to get the timeline straight and get a better outline for this fic
> 
> and i know this is hella short compared to the other 3 chapters i've written but this is basically a filler chapter so bear with me
> 
> edit: i jUST REALIZED THAT THIS SHIT HAS 1000+ HITS?????? THANKS Y'ALL


	5. prom (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prom Chaos begins, and Michael gets a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u love expensive headphones lemme hear u say "HELL YEAH"
> 
> (its platonic-ish, but it still appears in this chapter)

“Gooood morniiiiiiiiing Westborough!” The voice of the secretary on the school PA snaps Michael out of his half-asleep state. “Today is Tuesday, May 1st. Prom is on May 23rd, please have your prom permission slips and money turned in by Thursday. The theme is the Roaring 20’s!”

Michael slips his headphones on and puts on his music as the entire class murmurs in excitement. Ah yes, prom. A teenager’s high school career was incomplete without prom and the chaos that comes with it. At least, an ordinary teenager. Michael Mell is no ordinary teenager.

Michael Mell is an awkward teenage boy who has that good ol’ Social Anxiety™. That's self explanatory. Michael also has a bad case of the Hanahaki Disease for his best friend, who’s going to be there with his girlfriend. Looking at these two (but very important) factors, Michael can reasonably conclude that he’s better off skipping prom.

And yet, he feels obligated to attend. He is dateless, has no money for clothes that would match the theme, and knows he’ll be in the bathroom the entire time. Yet, Michael knows that he only gets two proms throughout his whole life. He’ll regret skipping prom when he's older.  
Probably.

That, and his mother would never let him live it down.

A soft tap on his shoulder makes Michael slip off his headphones. He turns over his shoulder to see Brooke shoving a small slip of paper in the hood of his sweatshirt. Michael makes an indignant squawking noise, which isn’t even loud, but the teacher hears it anyway.

“Mister Mell, do you have something to say to the class?” The gaze of 58 eyes are all on Michael, and he thinks he’s having a stroke.

Michael shakes his head, feeling his palms get sweaty. “N-No sir.”

“Then please pay attention to who’s speaking.” The teacher turns back to Troy. He snickers at Michael before continuing to explain Einstein’s Principle of Relativity.

“ _Everyone knows what that is_ ,” Michael thinks to himself as he shoves his hand in his sweater hood. He grasps for Brooke’s note. “ _Go fuck yourself, Troy,_ " he continues. " _Shove that cocky smirk up your ass; I hope you shit out a diamond._ ” He finally finds the note, and when he opens it, he sees that it's written with sparkly blue ink.

“ _Wait at your car until Rich comes by. He’s got something to tell you._

_-Brooke ❤️_ ”

Michael turns around, eyeing Brooke in suspicion. She smiles and bats her eyes at him in the most innocuous manner she can manage.

“Mister Mell, please turn to the front.”

“Sorry!” Michael yelps, a bit louder than intended. His face turns red as the people around him giggle. This fucking teacher is on his ass today.

\--

“Mr. Ziegel was on your ass today,” Jeremy says as they’re walking to the school exit. “What were you even doing?”

Michael throws up his hands in exasperation. “Nothing! I only made a weird noise and looked back at Brooke like, twice!”

Jeremy snorts. “To be fair, you usually don't make any noise at all. But that's all good, since you make up for it with your brain.” He pokes Michael’s head with endearment.

Michael can't help but glow a little at the compliment. People don't usually acknowledge his intelligence, but Jeremy does. He always does. “I guess that’s true. Uh, are riding with me or do you have play practice?”

“Play practice,” Jeremy replies, his face suddenly lighting up. “That reminds me, our roles are being assigned today! Me and Christine signed up for the leads.”

Michael smiles wearily, swallowing down a few flower petals. “Oh? Well, good luck then, Prince Charming.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes with a smile. “Thanks Cinderella. See ya later!”

“Bye.”

“ _If only_ ,” Michael thinks to himself as he walks to his car. Michael doesn't think he’d mind being Jeremy's Cinderella at all.

Well, actually, he’d prefer Mulan. She's the coolest Disney princess.

Michael walks up to his P.T. Cruiser, and notices a small note card under the windshield wipers. He slips it out and immediately recognizes Rich’s handwriting.

“ _Hi Michael! Sorry to lead you on a treasure hunt, but I need you to come to the beach. I have to show you something!  
-Rich ✌️_ ”

Michael smiles at the little peace sign drawn by Rich’s signature and hops into the driver’s seat. Good thing he has a lot of free time today.

\--

As Michael finishes shoving money in the parking meter, he catches a glimpse of something written in the sand. It's May, but the water is still cold (because it's the Atlantic Ocean) and nobody is around. Except for a small person walking around by the shore, who Michael thinks is Rich.

He takes his shoes and socks off and steps onto the beach, letting his feet sink into the sand before walking towards the shore. The person gets closer, and upon seeing the red streak and ugly yellow tank top, Michael confirms that it's indeed, Rich Goranski.

He also starts to see the shells lying around, and before he knew it, Michael was standing in front of sea shells. They spelled out, in big capital letters:

PROM?

“Hey Michael,” Rich greets him. He rubs the back of his neck, and gestures to his handiwork. “...Whaddya think? Does it look nice?”

Michael nods. “Very nice. There’s a variety of shells here; is this why you skipped school today?”

His face goes a little pink. “Maybe.”

“That’s cute,” Michael chuckles. “Who’s it for?”

Rich blinks in surprise, then laughs heartily. “You, dummy!”

Oh.

_…Oh._

It's incomprehensible; the thought of someone who actually wanted to go out with him to Prom. Two nights in an entire person’s life, and they want to spend one of those with Michael Mell? Preposterous.

And yet, this short, stocky, bisexual boy with a lisp and burns covering his body, is in front of Michael. He rubs his neck nervously and looks off to the side, about to say the magic words.

“Michael,” Rich says, “would you like to go to prom with me?” 

A moment of tense silence passes as Michael registers Rich’s words.

“Listen, I know you don't like me romantically,” Rich mumbles. “And uh, that's okay. I don't really feel that way about you either. But I’d still like to go with you. In a platonic way, that is. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Michael giggles. “It's kinda nice, actually.”

“...So,” Rich says, a grin spreading on his face. “Is that a yes?”

“Yeah,” Michael replies, and he finds himself smiling as well. “Yes, Rich. I'd love to go to prom with you.”

\---

Michael bursts into his living room, immediately catching the attention of his mother and her girlfriend.

“Hi Nanay,” he gasps. “Hello Angel.”

His mother narrows her eyes. “Michael, did you run here? I told you not to work yourself like that--”

“Listen,” Michael wheezes. “I need your help. I didn't think I was going to prom but a guy asked me and--”

“Who?” Angel interrupts, suddenly sitting up. “You sit down here and tell us everything, young man.”

Michael sits down on the couch and explains everything, from Brooke’s note in Physics to Rich’s nervous neck rubbing at the beach.

“So you have a date?” his mother asks. “That's great! Is Rich a nice boy?”

“Uh, yeah. He's cool.” Michael smiles and looks askance. “He helps me with my petals sometimes.”

Angel nods in approval. “That's good. Do you need money for anything?”

“Uh, well, Rich already bought a ticket for both of us. But I do need a suit. The theme is the Roaring 20’s. And, one last thing.”

“What is it?”

“...Can one of you teach me how to dance?”

\--

Michael comes to school the next day with sore legs. He winces as he sits down at the lunch table by Jeremy, rubbing the soreness from his thighs.

“Jesus dude, what did you do last night?” Jeremy chuckles. “You’re acting like you’re 70.”

“I feel like I’m 70,” Michael groans as he yawns and lets his head flop on the table. “I don’t even wanna eat my sandwich.”

“You should take a hot bath when you get home,” Christine says. “It’ll help.”

“Thanks for the advice Christine, but I’m not getting home until, like, 5. I’m getting a suit for prom.” Michael realizes his mistake as Chloe looks up from her phone.

"You’re going to prom?” Chloe gasped. “I thought you were skipping.”

"Well, I got asked out, so I’m going now.” 

“ _You fucked up Michael_ ,” he thought to himself. “ _You could’ve just shut the fuck up, but no. Your tired ass had to spill the beans._ ”

Jeremy’s face lights up like a firework. “Cool! Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Well, um--”

“Hi guys!” Rich greets the table, pushing Jake in his usual spot. Michael lets go of a breath he didn’t notice he was holding and smiles at Rich.

“Hey guys. How was the elevator ride?”

“Boring as ever,” Jake mutters. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Michael has a date for prom,” Jeremy says with a grin, “and as his best friend, it is my obligation to find out who it is.”

Michael and Rich exchange a knowing look. “Is that so?” Rich chuckles. “Well, good luck. You’ll figure it out.”

Jeremy looks at Michael, then back at Rich. The realization dawns on him, and his eyes go hilariously wide. “Wait, are you two--?”

“You said yes!” Brooke chirps as she sits down at the table, fashionably late. “Ohmygod, your face is as red as your sweater! This is too cute, I need to take a picture--”

As his face heats up, Michael pulls on the drawstrings of his hoodie. Only his mouth and nose are visible now, but he curls in on himself for good measure. “Don’t post this!”

“You didn’t tell me that you and Rich were dating!” Jeremy hiss-whispers to him. Michael immediately opens his hoodie and tugs it down, frantic.

“Well, I mean, we’re not uh, dating,” he stutters out. “R-Right, Rich?” He turns to Rich, and Rich is just as flustered. Unlike Michael, he cannot hide his embarrassment in his clothing, so he presses his fist to his mouth.

“Wh- I mean, no,” he blurts out. “This is, um, totally platonic.” Jake laughs and claps Rich on the shoulder.

“Congrats dude.” Jake smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Michael knows that smile, the kind of smile that you use when your best friend is with someone else. Michael knows that smile far too well.

“We’re going together because we, uh, got rejected.” Rich explains, a bit more coherent than before. “We’re like, each other's backup. But we’re not going to have any less fun.” Rich grins at Michael. “Right, Michael?”

Michael nods, smiling back at Rich. “Right.” Michael catches Jeremy’s contemplative look in the corner of his eye, and raises an eyebrow at his best friend. “What?”

Jeremy blinks and smiles with a certain softness that made Michael's heart melt. “Sorry. It’s just that, I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t want to go to prom with you. You’re such a great person, Michael. Whoever they are, they’re missing out.”

Michael smiles and represses a cough. _You idiot_. “Thanks, Jer.”

“And this is the happiest I’ve seen you in a while,” Jeremy added. “I hope you have fun with Rich. You two will be the power couple of the party!”

Michael giggles. “I could say that about you and Christine.”

Jeremy’s face flushes and he looks away. “Well, uh, that’s real nice of you but there’s no way either of us will even get on prom court--”

“What are you talking about?” Brooke snorts. “You and Rich are on prom court.”

Rich chokes on his soda, and Jeremy is completely speechless. “What?!” they yell. “We’re on prom court?”

Christine laughs. “Yeah, didn't you hear the announcements this morning? Either Jake, you guys, or the two other seniors could be our future Prom King.”

“We were fuckin’ brain dead!” Rich cries in protest.

Brooke rolls her eyes and looks back to her phone. “Well maybe you should pay attention to the announcements more.”

Rich flips her off. “Get Lohst, Brooke.”

Brooke flips him back, almost like an instinct. The entire table shares a laugh, only to be rudely interrupted by Jenna slamming her hands down on the table.

“Y’all won’t believe what I found out,” she giggles, her eyes twinkling with a mischief that everyone knew all too well. The entire table groans in dread.

“What the hell did you find this time?” Jake sighs. Jenna holds up her phone to everyone, showing a Snapchat of what seemed to be a toilet. Michael leaned closer along with the rest of the table, and immediately felt his stomach drop.

It was a toilet in the boys bathroom clogged with white ambrosia flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...if i'm characterizing anyone incorrectly, don't be afraid to tell me
> 
> this fic means a lot to me, and i want to get this right. so call me out if something seems wrong
> 
> blease

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments keep me going!  
> also if i used tagalog incorrectly then feel free to punch me ;^)
> 
> my tumblr is @ssentenial now! come say hi


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